Go Get Your Gun
by sturmgalan
Summary: or, pretty much, "How Alfred F. Jones Became The Mafia Top Dog  And The Personal Relationship Shenanigans He Got Into Along The Way." Rus/UK/US, AU.
1. 0, Kick Back Into The World of Motion

Today, still not the day I post something not previously from the kink meme. Admittedly, this fill is kind of... ridiculously self-indulgent, since the requester pretty much only specified bottom!America and the surprised/shocked reaction of whomever was topping America finding out America was a powerful mafia boss (with preference to said person being either Canada or Russia). Other than that, I was free to run wild! Which I did with much abandon. (Oops?)

So ah, pairings likely to get any significant amount of screentime, for those who care about such things: Russia/England/America, probably China/Japan/Korea, Spain/Romano... I'm not sure any of the other pairings will get more than a brief mention, but feel free to ask? Or something, I dunno.

**Warning:** South Italy's language. No, seriously. South Italy's language.

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**0. Kick Back Into The World of Motion**

Sometimes, Alfred thought, if you wanted something done right, you had to do it yourself.

He took one last look in the mirror, drinking in his reflection before shooting it a grin and a thumb up. Sure, it wasn't a slick three piece, but he liked to think he looked good in the bomber jacket and jeans. Friendly, approachable, unconventional - but that wasn't necessarily a bad thing.

And being underestimated could come in handy, too.

"Oh yeah, who's the boss?" If there was a little ass shake accompanying the words, well, he wasn't owning up to it. "That's right. Me." And with that parting shot to an empty room, Alfred F. Jones left his apartment.

...

Not for the first time, Lovino questioned whether he was doing the right thing. Not so much about offing _that bastardo_ Marco Guasconi, who had it coming the first time he'd been forced to watch Feliciano take on an assignment the sadistic pig-licker knew Feliciano couldn't complete. Just to watch Feliciano cry and beg for mercy.

Shit-sucking sonuvva whore. May wolves chew on his dick while he burned in the pits of hell, amen.

No, he just wondered whether he should have waited. Jones had been convenient because he was an outsider with the strength and ability to take out the top echelon. But therein also lay the problem. Jones was an outsider who had no fucking clue about the mafia other than a vague notion that they "did bad things."

Quote, unquote. Bash his head against hard surface repeatedly.

"Hey! Lovino, right? You know, you shouldn't keep hitting your head against the wall like that, you'll hurt yourself." Speaking of...

Ladies and gentlemen, their new overlord had arrived.

"Jones. ...Jones, what are you _wearing_."

The kid automatically looked down at himself. Lovino snorted at the sight. What, did the kid dress himself in the dark or something? You'd think a person would remember his own outfit. "Huh? Oh, yeah! Isn't it awesome?"

Awesome. Yeah, no, and he heard that word far too often from Beilschmidt already. The deranged one, not the one getting fucked by his brother. (Ugh.) His lips curled into a sneer as he decided whether to be blunt or politic before- ah shit, he supposed he should play nice with his new boss for awhile at least. He felt so magnanimous. "It's a t-shirt. And jeans. And ratty sneakers."

"Hey, don't dis the sneakers! They've gotten me out of many a tough spot."

"You couldn't have worn a fucking suit or something?"

Jones seemed to actually consider that for a moment. "Nah, this is more comfy. I don't feel like I can breathe in a suit, ya know?"

Lovino did, but he wasn't sure whether he could forgive flying in the face of fashion and tradition. "Whatever, it's too late to change, anyway. Next time, you're wearing a suit."

Ugh, the kid was like an overeager puppy the way he perked right up. "So you're taking me to headquarters, right? I get to meet with everyone? I've got these great ideas I can't wait to share."

"Yes, we're going to HQ. No, we're not meeting everyone, just the more important bastards. Hold off on the idea sharing until they're more used to you."

Damage control, and then getting it through the idiot's thick head the proper way to run a Family.

And some new clothes. _Definitely_ some new clothes.

.

**To be continued.**


	2. 1, In Control Of The Morning

Yey, second chapter. Hopefully the fact that it's a mafia AU gets a little more obvious in here, even if _still_ nothing really happens. (Also, if you want, you can have fun picking out what songs all the chapter titles come from. To be fair, it's probably relatively easy?) _Also_ also, Guasconi is just a convenient OC. Just to make the world a little bigger, aye?

.

Things that are probably good to know before reading! (Don't worry, I'll spare you all the ramblings on how and why the names were chosen, ahaha...)

-Belgium = Alice Lambermont

-Ancient Greece = Helena Karpusi

-West Roman Empire (Ancient Rome) = Romulus Vargas

-East Roman Empire (Byzantine Empire) = Remus Vargas

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**1. In Control Of The Morning**

_Veneziano's_ was never really empty during the day, even past three in the afternoon when it was too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Lovino eyed the few occupied tables as he led Jones around the restaurant to the side entry. His brother's business may have been about as legit as it got - and rather celebrated as a fine dining establishment to boot - but with what they talked about in the place's back rooms, one could never be too certain.

"I thought we were going to headquarters," Jones said, confused. Jones's brows were furrowed as he took in the little alleyway they had turned into.

Lovino rolled his eyes in response, not bothering to turn to his new boss as he reached for the door knob. "We are. Unless you want to use the old warehouse Guasconi was using."

"Nah, I want to make a fresh start. But isn't this a restaurant...?" Lovino could practically hear the frown. "And isn't the entrance back there?"

"Well, we're not here to _eat_." As if emphasising his words, he swung the door open to reveal a long hallway. Herakles sat just inside with a half dozen cats surrounding him. Ostensibly on break from kitchen duties, in truth on guard post, Herakles met his gaze, tensing before relaxing at his nod. "Herakles, new boss. Jones, Herakles Karpusi."

"Nice ta meetcha, Herakles!" Lovino found himself nudged aside as behind him, Jones extended a hand in greeting. "Alfred F. Jones. I look forward to working with you."

Herakles took the hand and shook it, but otherwise didn't move. "Mmn, same." Herakles then switched focus to him instead. "Lovino, Antonio dropped by earlier and said he had something for you. And Ma says you and Feliciano should visit more often."

Not for the first time, Lovino thought that if he didn't know better, he'd never suspect his cousin could go from mellow to crushing throats in the space of a breath. But the glint of steel was there, that warned that he and his brother had better drop by his Aunt Helena's or there'd be hell to pay.

(To be honest, he was a little terrified of his aunt. Family dinners with her tended to involve her shoving food at them while lambasting his father Romulus and Uncle Remus for up and getting themselves offed and leaving behind "you poor dear boys" to fend off their enemies at a time she couldn't help. He agreed with the latter sentiment, of course, but where he had his snap flash anger, she wielded slow-burning fury like a weapon. She'd never quite forgiven the Vargas men for introducing her son to Sadik Adnan, either.)

So he sighed and agreed, "Yeah, yeah, I got it. Come on, Jones," and didn't bother checking if the blond followed or not when he began moving again.

Jones ran to catch up, tossing a grin and a wave to Herakles as he did. It was annoying that the man could more than easily match him stride for stride. "'Antonio' is Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, right? I remember reading about him. He seemed cool."

"He's an idiot." To his own mortification and Jones's utter fascination, though, he began to flush bright red despite his scowl. "And he'll be at the meeting. Just like _everyone else_ you were considering for your inner circle."

Fortunately, it seemed that Jones, for once in his lifetime, had read the atmosphere and realised he didn't want to talk about a certain Spanish bastard. Either that, or Jones was just more interested in talking business. Probably the latter; previous experience with Jones had shown the man could be like a dog and its bone with a topic if the man was interested.

"Right! Thanks for that, by the way. I don't think they'd have talked to me if I'd been the one to approach them." He accepted the gratitude as was his due, even if he didn't do it for Jones. It was the truth after all.

For a few brief moments, there was blessed silence, and then Jones had to go and open his mouth again. "Soooo, I was wondering..."

"Yeah?"

Jones motioned to their surroundings. "I thought this place was a restaurant."

"It is. It also used to be one of the drop-off locations, where we'd then make sure the drugs got to distributors. Guasconi liked to shove all the people he considered troublemakers here to hassle Feli. So it's a place most of the guys know well." He paused for a moment, then added, "Also, you could say it's tradition."

"What, really?"

He shot Jones an odd look for that. "What else would you use the back rooms for?" And with that, he shoved open a door just beyond the kitchens and motioned Jones inside. "Here's the room, sit wherever. I'm going to have a talk with my brother."

...

Left to his own devices, Alfred tended to fidget. He had emptied his jacket pockets about five minutes after Lovino had left, their contents scattered on the table before him. His pens had been lined up like so many soldiers in a row, and his chain of paperclips had been dismantled and put together again before being tossed to the side. Old receipts were folded into tiny origami figures. For a few minutes, he reviewed his files, but he knew that information already, had it down cold with that monstrous combination of a sharp memory and sharper interest. Frankly, it all summed up to the fact that Alfred F. Jones was _bored_.

It was fortunate people began trickling in when they did, because Alfred had moved on from creating strange and elaborate pieces of paperclip art to strange and increasingly implausible plans of superhero-dom.

"Welcome, guys," he said, when everyone had settled down, adding an "and lady" with a nod to the be-ribboned brunette two seats down. "I don't know what y'all may have heard of me already, so I figured I should start from the beginning. Nice t'meetcha, my name's Alfred F. Jones. Call me Alfred. Or Al. There was this guy, went by the name of Guasconi. Kind of an asshole, y'know? Which is probably why he ended up dead. By me. So hi, I'm also your new boss."

His hands hit the table with a resounding smack. Good, they were all definitely paying attention now. Making sure to catch everyone's eyes, Alfred scanned the table and mentally matched names with faces. There was Ludwig Beilschmidt, and next to him, his older brother Gilbert. Francis Bonnefoy. Antonio Fernandez Carriedo. Lovino Vargas, who'd managed to acquire a basket of tomatoes somewhere between visiting his brother and returning to the meeting room. Alice Lambermont. Yongsu Im. All interesting people, and trustworthy, considering their line of work.

He let the silence hold a moment longer before continuing. "And I'd like you guys to be my... what's the word, consigliere? You know, my advisers."

The table exploded with noise.

Now _that_ was what you called making an impact. Alfred leaned back into his chair with smug satisfaction as he let his new people talk themselves out, shrugging innocently when Lovino rolled eyes at him. So it was a little dramatic! It was effective.

Eventually, Gilbert raised a hand, and the noise died down to a murmur as they all waited to hear what the man had to say.

"Gilbert."

"Jones," Gilbert mimicked. "Why us?"

"Huh?"

"Why'd you choose us? I mean, I know I'm awesome an' all, but even my great self's gotta admit that we were only bit players as far as Guasconi was concerned. Tell me how you decided. I'd like to know."

"Oh. Hmm." Alfred tilted his chair back, balancing haphazardly on its back legs as he formulated a response. "That's a fair question," he said. "It's, well... I'm planning on making a lot of changes around here. And obviously, I couldn't keep anyone who agreed with Guasconi's methods, yeah? But those would be the guys who got to the top under Guasconi's rule, so pretty much anyone near the top was right out. Guasconi thought you guys were troublesome though, which is pretty great already in my books, and everything I've read about y'all so far indicates you'd be dependable when it really matters. Also," and his lips twisted to a lopsided grin here, "y'all sounded really fun to work with."

This time, it was Alice who spoke. "Changes?"

"Clean up the area. Help deliver justice in place of the corrupt police swayed by money. We'll be the heroes of the people! I mean, yeah, I guess we'd have to ask for protection money and all, but I'd like to reduce the amount of drug trafficking and stuff that Guasconi was doing, maybe make it up in gambling or something. With limits, of course. My dream is to make here," and his chair teetered then smacked down as he threw his arms wide open, "a safe place for good people."

And maybe not just this area, when he was through, but it wouldn't do good to look _too_ ambitious yet.

Gilbert blinked, grinned as he took Alfred's words all in. "What the hell, you crazy bastard. I'm in." Next to him, Ludwig groaned but threw in his lot with his brother.

"I think I'm going to like you," Yongsu chimed in. "You can count on me."

Francis gave Alfred a considering look before nodding slowly. "I am interested in seeing whether you can pull this off. I'm in."

"And me," said Alice. "I might actually like working for you."

"Ch', you know I'm in this shit with you already."

"And how could I let myself be left out after all that, eh? Right, Lovi? I'm in, I'm in!"

Alfred was positively beaming now, but he didn't care how silly he might look. His plans were finally being set into motion! "Thanks guys," he said. "I mean, I figured you guys would probably agree, but... Now, I just have one more thing to ask." And without waiting for any acknowledgment, he plowed right on. "Is there a flower shop or anything around here?"

"...There is one around the corner, though it is, ah, a little strange. You will understand if you see. Why?" Somehow, that one raised eyebrow on Francis's face seemed positively lecherous. "Hot date?"

Alfred flushed. "Ahaha, nah. I just wanted to send my condolences, is all."

"Condolences?"

"You know, to Guasconi's friends and relatives. Anyways, I think that's it, so I'm off. See y'all!"

Alfred left gaping silence in his wake.

.

**To be continued.**


	3. 2, These Gestures That We've Made

Ahhh, sorry, I've been lazy about catching up on uploading chapters. (It's like, I don't want to flood with updates! But then I forget to update here. Oops? orz)

Mmm, I am. hoping I got all the honorifics/modes of address correct, when it came to the East Asian characters. Also that Yongsu and Kiku's interaction made sense? Also _also_, for reference, North Korea = Im Yongmin. /o/

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**2. These Gestures That We've Made**

Ivan found there tended to be two types of people who walked into his Eden of sunflowers - the desperate, and those who shared his wish to spread happiness in the world. It was probable he wouldn't have even gotten those desperate few, were it not for the fact his elder sister had insisted he write on his window the names and prices of the flowers he more commonly sold. Could it be helped that he wanted to fill his store with sunflowers? There was very little market for them though, it sometimes seemed, with some weeks only the warm Italian around the corner buying any. Roses, lilies, orchids, and such - he loved them for the fact that they grew, but in his mind, none could ever compare to his heliotropic darlings.

(Someday, through sunflowers, he would unite the world in one big family of peace and warmth. It was his Dream, and though there were many things Ivan could disparage about the people whose country he had moved to, their ability to dream big and try for said dreams was not one of them.)

With the amount of time this man had been standing at his window, looking from his little price list to the explosion of sunflowers inside, and then back again, Ivan decided that the man must be one of the desperate. Regretful, for it probably meant one less in the crusade for happiness, but it was very entertaining in the meanwhile.

Closing time _was_ soon, however, so perhaps it was about time to offer help.

He placed a hand on the man's shoulder. "I can assist you, yes? Before we close, even."

"Gah! Christ, I didn't even hear you! Are you like part-ninja or something?"

Ivan amended his earlier opinion. Desperate and _foolish_. "I am Russian, not a ninja."

"You can be both! ...or not, y'know." The man shrugged, taking a step back at the same time. It took willpower for him not to follow. "So what were you saying? Oh, some help, sure! But only because you offered and it'd be faster, not because I actually need it, you understand."

Ivan had many things he wished to say to that last statement, but in the end he kept silent, pasting on his best salesman smile - that too had been advice from Katyusha - as he waited for the man to elaborate.

The silence stretched. And stretched. And stretched.

"Umm..." The man shuffled, adjusting his collar with an awkward smile.

And perhaps he should take pity on this American. "Women usually like roses?" he offered.

"Oh! Right, I'll keep that in mind. Uhh, actually, I need flowers for a lady whose husband just, well... passed away. That says, 'Sorry he had to die,' or something, maybe." Fidgeting, and then blue eyes peered owlishly over glasses. "There are flowers like that, right? I mean, I didn't like the dude or anything, but his wife didn't seem all that bad. Anyways, a hero should always be considerate! ...Unless being considerate meant letting wrongs go un-righted."

A hero. How... amusing, especially the way the man blathered on about it. "Are you trying to convince me?" he asked.

The man sputtered. "I- of course I'm a hero!"

At least the man calmed down when, in humouring him, he agreed. "If that's being a hero, then perhaps I could also say I am saving the world," he mused. The words drew the man's attention so quickly that, were the man a dog, Ivan suspected both ears would have suddenly pricked with curiosity.

"Really? Are you a florist by day, and a secret agent of justice by night?"

And like a puppy dog, the man was a bit of an idiot. Really, what a funny question. Well, even though he was not some secret agent, nor a ninja, flowers for someone's death, yes, he could do that. Moving back to his shop, he began putting together a bouquet, barely even thinking about it as he went. "I am not. And I think these flowers are suitable, yes? What name would you like on the card?"

"Oh yeah! Those look great. I'm Alfred, by the way. But don't put it on the card or anything; I don't think that'd go over well. Just wrap the flowers and I'll pay for them."

"Twenty five dollars."

He watched as Alfred danced around before finding and pulling out a battered old wallet. "Aaaand ten, twenty, twenty five! Here ya go." Alfred offered him the cash and an idiot smile. "So tell me about these plans of yours..." Leaned in, peered closely at his nametag. "Ivan!"

"Ah-"

"Wait, you're closing though, right? Listen, I want to hear what you have to say. How 'bout I drop by earlier tomorrow, and you can tell me about it? Who knows, I might even be able to help."

Alfred must have taken his silence as agreement, because the blonde happily grasped his hands and shook them. "Great, it's a date!" the man called, and then rushed away in a whirlwind that left him just a little bit dazed.

A date? Ah. Hmm. Ivan aborted his belated wave goodbye, staring at his hand before pressing it against his chest. Beneath his palm, his heart thumped surprisingly fast.

He shook his head. His body's sudden strange symptoms were not important. It was time to go home to his sisters.

...

Honda Kiku barely even tensed when his apartment door slammed open any more. It was curious the things one could get used to, even such things as an old acquaintance turned friendly rival intruding upon his home. With a sigh, he removed his headphones and rested them next to his mouse; only when he shifted his gaze from the screen now did he realise how strained his eyes felt.

In the meanwhile, judging by the noises, Yongsu-san was invading his kitchen.

"Heeeey, you crazy hermit, guess what?" Cupboards squeaked open and banged shut in rapid succession. "Also, are you living off instant noodles again? I know they're delicious - they were invented in Korea, after all! - but that's really not good for you. Luckily," clinking sounds, and then the smell of something divine drifted over, "I brought food."

"You went over to Yao-san's," he stated.

Yongsu-san shrugged as he materialised in the entryway, balancing platters of Chinese and a notebook in his arms. "Well, you like his food, and yet you still can't bring yourself to visit him. I tell you, Wang Yao-hyung would forgive you if you'd just apologise. I'm pretty sure he already knows whenever I order this much that I'm visiting you, anyway."

"Your sister wouldn't forgive me," he pointed out. He stood to help carry the plates, and together they settled around his small coffee table.

"Did you actually apologise to her?" Yongsu-san jabbed a pair of chopsticks in his direction. "Either way, you hurt Yongminnie in far different ways than you did Wang Yao-hyung, and both bad. Don't try to moderate either transgression. Anyway, I know you regret it, but they don't. And like hell I'm telling them. I don't like you that much."

His words seemed choked in his throat. "Just... not yet."

"Not yet what?" Yongsu-san blinked.

"I'll visit him some day. But not yet."

"Progress!" A wince flashed across his face as Yongsu-san clasped his shoulder far too familiarly from across the table. "Now! Guess what."

He let his silence answer for him. With pointed disinterest, he focused on his noodles, taking them strand by strand. Yongsu-san tended to answer faster when he didn't play the other man's games.

"...All right, fine, you stick in the mud. So! I'll tell you, because you are my buddy and esteemed coworker. Almost as esteemed as yours truly, in fact. Now, anyone who's not an idiot will already know that our old boss is dead. But I! Got to meet our new boss today. And I," Yongsu-san tapped at the notebook, "have notes."

Well, that was more interesting than he'd expected. He set aside his food to take the spiral, and turning to the latest marked page, he blinked at the sketch that greeted him. Given Yongsu-san's talent for art, it was probably fairly accurate. Underneath had been scrawled the name 'Alfred F. Jones.'

"He is... not from any of the other Families around here."

"Nope," Yongsu-san confirmed. "Totally new to the field. He seems decent though. But..."

Kiku sighed, knowing he would give in eventually, if he didn't now. "Very well, I will do a background check."

"Yes!" Yongsu-san fistpumped, then scooted over to his side of the table and threw an arm around his shoulder. "Now let me tell you about what he said today..."

.

**To be continued.**

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Responses! \o/ (Or, well, response!)

-vi: Don't worry, I'll definitely keep updating! As I said on the kink meme, I've got a good chunk of some of the later scenes in this fic already written up, it's just a matter of. figuring out a middle part to get to those later scenes, ahaha. Thank you for reading, and for the compliments! I hope the later chapters live up to your expectations. m(_ _)m


	4. 3, Spinning Dizzily Down On The Floor

Stuff relevant to this chapter: Jean is not a typo for Joan of Arc/Jeanne d'Arc. Jean is in fact Seychelles, and is also mostly me taking advantage of the fact Jean is a relatively androgynous name to refer to Jean Moreau de Séchelles, to whom the island of Seychelles is named after anyway. T^Td Miguel is Cuba, and uh, was a name used for him in someone else's fic that ended up sticking in my head. (I- I hope whomever it was doesn't mind. orz) And Freyr Gestsson is Iceland! Because I find it hilarious to name him after the god of farming and weather and "phallic fertility." Bestows peace and pleasure in_deed_.

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**3. Spinning Dizzily Down On The Floor**

Alfred had had his apartment invaded, his wardrobe criticised, his self dragged out and taken clothes shopping, all by an irate Italian before the day had even hit noon.

He hadn't even been home when Lovino had called to inform him of the impending Italian invasion. Instead, he'd been out helping with the little fixer-upper cottage his friend had recently bought, because sure, it was something he'd promised before he'd up and become a freaking _mafia boss_ - and boy, did that still sound kinda swank in his head - but Alfred F. Jones never went back on his promises! He could have done without the experience of nearly pitching off the roof when his mobile had buzzed in his back pocket though, but Toris fussing over him afterward hadn't been all bad. He'd gotten cookies.

Still, what kind of person just announced he'd drop by, and then force a guy to return home to greet him? (It was perhaps fortunate Feliks had not heard him musing as much out loud, given he had the tendency to do exactly that to Toris at least once every other week.) Alfred had been more than a little tempted to ignore Lovino for the heck of it, but that had been one pissy Italian on the phone.

Not to say that the guy's pissiness hadn't been kind of hilarious though, and to be honest, so far as Alfred could tell, Lovino almost _always_ sounded varying degrees of annoyed. He'd had to stifle his snickers when "You tryin' ta cut in fronta me? You're a hundred years too early ta cut in fronta me! Go back to sucking your mama's tits, you little shit-for-brains!" had drifted through the receiver, aimed at some poor driver on Lovino's end of the phone before Lovino had hung up completely. It didn't mean he wanted to deal with an even pissier Lovino later though, and he definitely wasn't certain Lovino wouldn't just try to break into his apartment if he didn't get back. _That_ would be so not cool.

Still, thank God the guy had finally relented and let them get lunch. Who knew Lovino could be such a fashion tyrant? He'd thought Lovino hadn't been serious about the suit! He still didn't get what was wrong with his usual outfit. Sure, it was casual and all, but they were like civilian clothes! That hid his awesome hero side! And gosh darn it, but if he was gonna wear the suit at all, it'd only be while he was doing heroic mafia-y things.

Seriously, if he ever had to go clothes shopping again, it would only be too soon. No one needed that many suits. He _groaned_ at the thought.

Unfortunately, somewhere in his musings, he'd forgotten both that he was still eating lunch with Lovino, and that Lovino was talking. "Are you even listening to me!" came the immediate screech when Lovino realised his attention had drifted.

"Ehehe... no? Aww geez, man, chill."

A string of profanities sputtered from Lovino's lips. "Chill!" Wow, he hadn't known Lovino's voice could get so screechy. "This is important! Ay, Madre di Dio, I'm the right-hand man for a balloon-headed moron. Dammit, did you even hear anything I said!"

Alfred thought about it for a moment, and then he shrugged. "Dunno, I tuned out about when you started complaining about rush hour traffic."

"That was at the very beginning!"

"Oh. I guess I missed everything then!"

Lovino's face looked like it was about to burst, it was so red. "Screw this! You can go find an apartment yourself. I'm outta here."

Hey wait, apartment? "Wait up, what apartment?"

...On the one hand, Lovino was staring at him like he was an idiot again. On the other, Lovino didn't look like he was about to explode any more, either. "What, you weren't planning on staying in a place outside your own territory, were you?"

Well yeah, he had. When he said as much, the Italian's expression morphed into the kind of look he used to see on his parents' faces whenever he'd done anything particularly exasperating as a kid. "Well too bad, so sad, you're moving. That's what happens when you become a boss, kid," and Lovino tosses his share of the bill onto the table before rising to leave. "I got things to do. Look for a goddamn apartment! And you better be wearing a fucking suit the next time I see you!"

"Yeah, yeah." Alfred had _gotten_ it all, honest. He waved Lovino away before hailing the waiter over to order another plate of lasagna. Shopping was exhausting work.

...

Matthew Williams saw some pretty crazy stuff, working in a coffee shop. The sheer mania of the average coffee addict going through caffeine withdrawal alone was something that couldn't be underestimated, but once one coupled that with their location, well, it couldn't be anything but a recipe for trouble.

Some days, Matthew regretted moving into his cousin's apartment complex. Never for long, not with rent so cheap, thanks to Arthur being landlord and all - but there were times he just wished it were in a slightly better area. Perhaps somewhere that wasn't deep in mafia territory, at least, so that every job within walking distance wasn't _also_ in said territory.

He'd never been so thankful his presence was so easily passed over as he'd been when he had moved here.

So yes, Matthew Williams had seen some pretty crazy stuff, between the actions of his workplace's customers and of the mafiosi. He wouldn't say he'd seen it all, but he was fairly confident that his tolerance for the ridiculous or insane or just the downright weird was fairly high.

He still hadn't seen this coming, though.

"Dude, you look like me!"

"Um," was all Matthew managed to get out. And then, after adjusting his glasses and _staring_, he added, "You do look like me." Because creepily enough, the total stranger _did_. There were little differences - in the eye colour and hair style, mostly - but looking at the stranger's face was like looking into a mirror. How was that even possible? Did he have some long-lost twin no one had told him about? His parents would have said something to him though. Maybe a cousin then? Considering the family politics, he had to admit it was possible, if implausible. Could you get identical cousins?

The other man's palms slammed onto the counter and startled Matthew out of his thoughts. "No way! I bet I'm older, so you'd be the one who looked like me."

...Was that really what the guy was more concerned about? Was he just over-thinking it all? "That's-"

"So? How old are you? _I'm_ twenty."

The words slipped out of his mouth, dry and a little vexed-sounding, before he could tamp down on them. "Congratulations, so am I."

"Well, then when's your birthday? Mine's on July 4th, Independence Day! Isn't that cool?"

"July 1st."

"Oh," the man deflated. Matthew was thankful there were no other customers at the moment. The entire situation was surreal enough without witnesses. "By the way, I'm Alfred! Alfred F. Jones." He grasped Alfred's outstretched hand tentatively, squeaked a bit at the overenthusiastic handshake he received in return. "How 'bout you?"

"Matthew Williams?" Wait, that had come out as a question, hadn't it? "Matthew Williams," he said, a little more firmly. "And eh, did you want to order something?"

Sky blue eyes blinked once, twice, before widening. "Oh yeah! Mocha frappe, as big a cup as you have." Suddenly, Alfred hunched over, and the shifty look Matthew caught out of the corner of his eye as he turned to make the drink didn't bode well at _all_. Alfred's voice dropped in volume to a near hush under the noise of the coffee machine. "...Say, are you... a _local_?"

Ooookay, maybe it wasn't that he was overreacting to the entire situation. Maybe his doppelganger was just crazy. "Yes?"

"So you'd know what places have apartments to rent, right?"

"I guess, but only because I _just moved here_. Just because I live here doesn't necessarily mean I-"

"Great! Look, when you get off work, you can show me some places, right? I'll be in the corner seat there until you're done."

Oh my god, Matthew thought. Why had he promised to cover for Jean's shift again? If he hadn't, he'd never have come in today! Sure, more hours were rarely a bad thing, but-

At least Miguel would be coming in soon, and then he wouldn't be the only one working the counter. Freyr Gestsson was many things, but a helpful manager was not one of them. He shot one glance to the closed office door, another at Alfred in the corner, and then pulled out his cellphone that technically shouldn't have even been on.

And then, frantically, he dialed his cousin.

.

**To be continued.**

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By the way, I've been wondering. As readers, if you'd requested something on the meme (or I guess this applies for reading fics in general), would you rather get a WIP fill that may never be finished, or not get a fill unless it's finished - with obviously the fact that still no one may fill it?


	5. 4, No Matter What You Drop

New chapter, new chapter. Notes and stuff at the bottom. sigh I'm taking longer and longer between chapters now. orz Need to learn how to write faster!

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**4. No Matter What You Drop**

_One new message!_ Arthur's email chimed cheerily.

Arthur, on the other hand, took one look at its sender and felt his lips twitch violently downward.

It wasn't that he _disliked_ his boss, exactly. He actually liked Erzsébet a good deal, since he'd joined her little newspaper and found something of a good friend and confidante in her as well. So no, it wasn't that he disliked her.

She just had the tendency to be overly interested in his love life (or lack thereof), and even more irritatingly, had the tendency to send emails like _this_.

_You like those spelling-grammar fiddly things, right? Here're some of the less urgent articles I want you to look over. Thanks!_

_Your wonderful boss, Erzsébet_

For God's sake, he was her advice columnist, not her sodding editor!

Even if he would end up proofreading the articles anyway.

The phone rang before he could launch into a muttered tirade over Hungarian witches who presumed too damn much, thank you. Experience had him checking caller ID before picking up, but it was only Matthew, who - of the list of people that had his number - was one of the few whom he actually liked.

(He never could figure out why so many _irritating_ people had his number, including a certain thrice-damned trio of former university mates. Changing numbers hadn't helped the first or second time, either. They somehow, always, managed to get their paws on it anyway.)

"Hello, Arthur Kirkland speaking."

"_Is there some secret identical brother or cousin of mine you've all been hiding!_"

Then again, being likable didn't necessarily preclude being sane. He shot a sideways _look_ to where he held the phone before saying, "...I beg your pardon?"

"There's this guy! He walked into my workplace, and he looks almost exactly like me. He could be my twin, except I'm fairly sure I don't have a twin, and Arthur, it's _kind of freaking me out here_."

"...You know you shouldn't smoke up before you go to work."

On the other end of the phone line, his cousin made a noise like an angry beaver's. Or what he thought an angry beaver might sound like. Perhaps, thinking to the several times he'd offended one of his tenants' friends, 'affronted troll' would be more accurate. "Oh my god, you dick, I'm not high!"

The pause that crept through the phone line was longer this time. He let the weight of silent judgment speak for him, though in truth, he had little room to talk. He had his own vices in drink and the occasional cigarette, and though the smoking had never affected his work, there had been times he'd done articles not quite yet sober. He cleared his throat. "...So you were saying you have some sort of doppelganger."

"Yes, and he's _completely crazy_."

"Mmhmm," he hummed, placating. On the computer screen, the number of red squiggles decorating the latest article Erzsébet sent mocked him. "Surely you're overreacting a tad, aren't you? He can't be that odd. After all, you told me once you thought me mad the first time we met."

The judging silence came from the other end of the phone line this time. "I was nine. You were thirteen. And you had just introduced me to what you said was a flying mint bunny, whom you called your best friend. You've no right to say anything, anyway. You willingly dated _Gilbert Beilschmidt_."

Ah, Gilbert. Those had been good times. Good, crazy times he'd spent a little off his head, and though he couldn't truthfully say he even really liked Gilbert, there were times the German - pardon, _Prussian_ - could be decent company. "He wasn't that bad, compared to the... other two. Rather good in bed, actually. Well, he _did_ have a tendency to scratch and bite like a cat in heat, but-"

"Please, please stop talking, I really don't want to hear this."

"Too much?" There was a sort of vindictive glee in his voice that was only egged on by the furious editing he was doing concurrently. One by one, beneath his imperious gaze, zed's were changed to s's, u's were inserted where proper. Incorrect grammar scrambled to fix itself. It was hard to resist translating the whole article into proper English entirely - for translating it would be, with none of that silly American slang - but the last time he'd done so, he'd received an earful from Erzsébet and been forced to redo his editing under threat of frying pan.

Crazy broad. He still thought if he had to do extra work, he should at least be allowed to do it _his_ way.

"I hate you so much right now," Matthew fervently assured him. "Listen, I- what?" and then Matthew's voice grew fainter as the young man's words were directed elsewhere. "My shift doesn't end for hours- Yes, please go do whatever you have to do. ...Yes, yes, I promise I won't go anywhere before you come back." And then even softer, that Arthur had to strain to hear it, "Probably."

"...Matthew?"

When his cousin began speaking again, his voice had returned to normal volume. "Sorry, sorry. That was the, um, the crazy guy. He finally left. I think he was seriously considering staying my entire shift though. Which... speaking of, I'm really sorry for dropping this on you with such short notice, but when would be a good time for you to meet him?"

Arthur didn't have to think on that before he had an answer. Truth be told, most days the rest of the world could go hang, for all he cared. "Never. I'd rather not have any more madmen in my life, thank you."

On the other end of the line, Matthew sputtered. "B-but, you were the one who was saying he couldn't be that crazy!"

"Mm, yes, quite so." It was amazing how a good cup of tea made everything better, whether it be terrible writing or flustered relatives trying to foist their problems onto him. "Congratulations, you convinced me."

"_So much hate_," he thought he heard Matthew mutter. Any petty glee he gained evaporated when Matthew spoke up again though, with a voice sounding as if it couldn't settle between apologetic and smug. "...Did I mention the guy was looking for an apartment?"

What that meant took scant moments to sink into Arthur's brain. The curses that followed could strip a wall of its plaster.

And by the time he tried to demand more information, Matthew had already hung up.

...

"Like I keep sayin', ya never heard o' somethin' like _sunflower_ mania. Know why? That's 'cause tulips're _better_."

"There you go being silly again! You are being silly, yes? Of course you are. Tulips are all flash and very useless. You agree, yes? You can't say they're better than sunflowers, yes? You can't even eat them, yes?"

"Why don't ya go ahead an' try eatin' a tulip t' see?"

"Maybe you should eat it instead, if you love them so much?"

If Sadik didn't know better, he'd have said there was honest curiosity in the damned Russian's eyes. As it was, they'd been fighting over the same topic for the better part of six or so years now, and Braginski _still_ hadn't had the sense to give in and admit he was right.

He knew better. "Eat _this_."

His fist was two inches from Braginski - who was already moving to grab it straight on - when the bells on the door chimed the arrival of a customer. The sound brought Sadik's punch to a halt; they'd both learned to restrain themselves around customers after the incident with the Zwingli girl. They had _not_ had a happy doctor on their hands after they'd frightened Lili the one time, and an angry Vash was an extremely dangerous Vash with a side dish of collateral damage. He'd ended up having to fork over hard-earned cash to buy some quality sweets as an apology to the girl before Vash was mollified. Being in the business he was in, he didn't want to end up needing the doctor's services only to find Vash was still pissed and holding a grudge against him.

Braginski seemed to have apologised because he had a soft spot for the little lady. Weird as hell as that was to think about.

Come to think of it, as he watched Braginski duck his head down, shuffle from foot to foot and smile, what was _really_ weird as hell was Braginski's reaction to the kid that had just walked in. And the fact the kid beamed back with a "Hey, Ivan, right? Told you I'd be back!" Anyone who caused that sort of reaction in Braginski and returned it _had_ to have something off about him - just look at that Feliciano kid. Adorable, but seriously weird.

Shit, it meant Braginski had probably gotten his claws into this one already. On the other hand, fresh meat was fresh meat.

Sadik was banking on that fact when he sauntered forward, tossed an arm around the kid's shoulder after a measuring once-over that - oh _ho_! - had Braginski glowering. He had to hand it to the kid - after a tense moment, the guy didn't seem all that fazed at having his personal space invaded. "You're new around here, ain'tcha kid?"

"Yeah! You could tell that just by looking?"

"Kid," Sadik said with a hearty clap on the back. "Ya haven't been welcomed 'til ya been asked and yer choice's been made. So choose wisely." And because he was such a friendly guy, he was even gonna lower his sunglasses and ask nicely. "Are ya on the great and glorious Team Tulips? Or... Team _Sunflowers_?"

The kid stared blankly back. "...Team what and what?"

"Never mind him, Alfred." Aha! So the kid's name was Alfred. It sounded terribly familiar, as though he'd heard the name recently, but from where, it kept slipping Sadik's brain. "My comrade is not all there in his mental facilities-"

"_Hey_."

"-you understand, yes? You are a sensible young man who will agree that sunflowers are better than tulips."

Oh, it was _on_. Braginski was going to regret that, as soon as this Alfred left after making the obviously correct choice of 'tulips'.

"Ohhh," Alfred said, his eyes widening with comprehension. "Is _that_ what he was going on about?" The kid turned to him next, incredulity clearly visible. "Dude, why didn't you just say so?"

Which made _him_ pause and mentally replay the words he'd spoken. Even doing so though, he couldn't figure where'd things'd gotten lost in translation, metaphorically speaking and all. "...Wasn't that what I said? Coulda sworn it was."

"Nnnnno."

Sadik coughed into the awkward silence that had settled. "So ya still haven't answered the question," he said after a bit, even backing off a little so the kid wouldn't be too overwhelmed by his great and manly presence. "Alfred, was it? Sadik Adnan. Pleasure. And ya already seem t'know Braginski there."

"Yup! That's my name. Alfred F. Jones, don't wear it out. Huh? Question? Oh yeah, the flowers, right. Sunflowers, I guess. They're pretty delicious!" A grin and a thumb's up accompanied his answer.

But Sadik was no longer paying attention. _F. Jones_. By Allah, no wonder the name had sounded so familiar.

The dull roar in his ears muted out the rest of the world; even Braginski's creepy giggling, his "You have good taste. Aha, 'taste'! I made a... word play, you call it? Very funny, yes?" only just filtered in. In the middle of the small flower shop, he began laughing, deep and rich and a little hysterical, because this was the new Don on the block. A little brat that liked sunflowers. No wonder Herakles had a good impression of the new boss.

Somehow, Sadik had the feeling things were about to get interesting.

"Uhhh, you okay, dude?" Alfred had slowly been edging away from Sadik in the past few moments, not that anyone could really blame him.

Sadik's grin was a little too manic still when he replied. "Just fine, kid." In one movement, he whipped back on his sunglasses and shifted so he could whisper into Alfred's ear. "An' when ya go to war, I might join ya even."

Sadik walked out of the store feeling like he'd gotten the last laugh.

.

**To be continued.**

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Ahaha, yes, hi! So notes time! ...long notes time!

In case any of you have been wondering, the sequence of events have gone something like this -

Guasconi (oh, you convenient villain OC) is offed - a week later, prologue + chapters 1&2 - chapters 3-5 (this being chapter 4) falls the day after ch. 0-2. (I'm really, really hoping the events of this day will conclude with the next chapter and not. carry over again. orz)

So yeah, a lot's sorta happening at once. (But if there's one thing that's _really_ spreading hilariously fast, it's gossip.)

And in this part, flowers were serious fucking business!  
The association between Russia and sunflowers is pretty obvious, I would hope. On the other hand, it's a tad less well-known that tulips, usually associated with Holland/the Netherlands, actually originated in Korea- haha no, kidding, not Korea- in Central Asia and, most notably, Turkey. There have also been, like, nearly a dozen Russo-Turkish Wars throughout history, so I wanted to sneak in a bit of their antagonism in for the fun of it. And, y'know, Turkey's sort of my favorite and all.

But yeah, sunflowers are pretty damned useful and can be made into a bunch of things - from oil by using the seed, to dyes using the petals, and even fuel through burning dried stalks. Sunflowers can also remove toxic waste from the environment - and were used to decontaminate water after Chernobyl. Pretty cool, eh?

On the other hand, tulips? Look pretty, and Europeans went crazy over them (the aforementioned tulip mania), and unless you're interested in flower meanings, they're generally kind of useless. Its petals are edible (unless you're allergic), and apparently there is such thing as tulip wine, but the tulip bulbs? Unless you remove the skin and the centre, you're more likely to poison yourself. And it doesn't actually taste good anyway! The more you know. (Yeah, looking up how to eat tulips was one of the more... interesting bits of google searching I have done for this fic, hahaha.)

Thanks for reading, especially if you went through my long notes, haha! I hope you've been enjoying the fic so far. :D


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